


Not Lucky

by thinkythoughts



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Social Commentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkythoughts/pseuds/thinkythoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One ordinary girl, born with the x-factor. Everyone knows she's lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The greener the berry](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/564) by Cheryl Lynn. 



> This is the result of reading too many comics and social justice essays at the same time.
> 
> House of M didn't happen. Mutants are about 1/4 the total population. Of that quarter, 90% or more are low, gamma level. They might look funny. They might not. They might be (mentally/physically) functional. They might not be. They might die young (because random mutations sometimes mean you're less likely to have all your organs functioning normally/positioned correctly). They might get lucky.

You were lucky. You have all your limbs and digits in the right places, nothing missing or extra. You're healthy. Your parents never had to wonder how they'd afford to keep you alive (When you were six a family across town had a bad stroke of luck. Their x-gene child needed half his organs transplanted. The Rotarians had a big fund raiser to help them. You remember this because it was the first time you had cotton candy. The kid still died. He was the only other x-kid in your town.)

You're different enough (Green skin, hair, and eyes. A stupid little jigger over on one stupid little chromosome.) to be interesting, nonthreatening enough that Cerebro (not that you have any idea that Cerebro exists) would never ever send someone out to look for you and train you up to be a target, normal enough to not scare normal babies in the street. You're good in school, but not too good. Average looks. Average family. Tolerant neighborhood. Safe school. A different chromosome jiggered, a different family, a less progressive town... you know you're lucky.

You graduate, you get a job. You take some night classes but it never goes anywhere. You temp. You get used to answering the same questions all the time. No, you're not part plant. Sitting under a UV lamp will just give you a sunburn. No, you didn't get picked on (more than any other kid) when you were little. Yes, you're the only one (and never any doubt what "one" they mean) in your family. There's not a single Kermit joke you haven't heard, and you kinda wish you could go back in time and shoot Jim Henson dead. You get asked to participate in a few documentaries about "growing up X". You decline all of them. You have a job, an apartment, and a cat. You're still lucky.

You try to avoid politics. You avoid coverage of alphas as much as anyone can. The beautiful, the powerful, the dangerous ones. The tabloids love them. You'll never have to worry about going to jail or hiding from paparazzi. You try not to think about how every city (even yours) has an x-town. Lucky starts to feel lonely.

You date nice boys. Most don't go beyond casual hook-ups. You don't notice at first that they're all trying to prove something. When you do, you wonder if it matters. But you're bored with validating their politics or their rebellion. The last time you met a guy's parents was when Tom Ashland took you to the junior prom; but really, you'd known the Ashlands since you were ten and had skinned your knee on the sidewalk by their house, so you're not sure that even counts. You call your mom every few weeks and she tells you all about your new little niece. You remind yourself that you're still lucky, but it doesn't feel all that great. You wonder if it ever really did.

You try dating x-boys. They all have issues. None of them were lucky. At best you end up watching each other across a gulf of unshared experiences, at worst they hold it against you. Like it was your fault that you got off so easy. The last one throws a tin of beige concealer at you before he storms out. That night you comfort yourself with a bubble bath and glass of wine, and you see the ad for Utopia. Not the first time you've seen it of course. It's all anyone's been talking about for months. Is it good, is it bad... you don't care. It's away. It's different. And the girl in the picture looks like she could be your prettier, cooler sister. Maybe you can make your own luck.

You find a job and apartment. The new job isn't that much different from the old job, and the apartment is nicer. The cat pees on everything for a week before he settles in, but eventually he does settle in. You try to settle in. Months go by and you still don't feel settled. You're an x-girl on an island full of x-folk. You think you should be happy. You're not sure why you aren't.

Most of the tourists are normals. Mostly they stay in the casinos and dance halls, but some like to go looking for an "authentic" trip. Whatever the hell that means on a man-made island barely five years above the water. Usually they're looking for... something unpleasant. Less normal than they can get in the big shiny pleasure palaces. You're pretty sure you don't want to give it to them. And you don't want your nice neighbor (Furry. Quiet. So shy she practically stammers) cornered by any of them either. So the two of you start walking to and from work together. It works for a while.

You get catcalled by two mouth breathers one afternoon. One thing leads to another. Your luck runs out. You try to press charges. Everyone tells you not to bother. You try anyway - they use smaller, simpler words. The tourists bring in the money. No money, no Utopia. It's too bad that you and your friend got hurt, but you just weren't being careful enough. You really should have known better.

You think you know better now. Knowing better seems to make you angry all the time. You loose your job when you snap at your boss one morning. You can't stay in Utopia, fucking joke that it is. You try to get your neighbor to come with you, but she won't. You hug her good bye, and leave her the cat (he got along better with her anyway).

You crash on your parents couch for a few weeks, trying to figure out a plan. Plans fail to materialize. You catch a bus and walk though x-town. You can't for the life of you remember what you were so afraid of here. A deli has a help wanted sign in the window. You walk in, and walk out with a job. Crap pay, crap hours, but it's safe (for values of safe). Tourists don't come here looking to fuck a freak. You haven't managed to find your own place yet, but you can pay your parents back some rent at least. They keep hinting that you should put that money aside for some more night classes. (They don't tell you that they're doing that anyway.) It's something. It's not lucky, but it's something.


End file.
